Creative writing I

 Just how weird can you take it

“Fuck it all man.”

“I’ve been down this road too many times. I cannot believe no one is calling my phone. I thought I had friends. People like my posts on social media but no one hits me up. I want to live in the time of Andy Warhol, the Velvet Underground, CBGB, Black Flag, the Grateful Dead, Skrillex, Future Islands. Where is the music in 2021?”

Jeb walks down the alleyway by himself at twilight trying to think of a creative way to spend another lonely night. He notices trash on the sidewalk, a raccoon in a gutter, and two women in mini skirts looking at him from the corner. Not a forwarded social person at this time of his life, underperforming and beginning his thirty-year long midlife crisis at age thirty, he walks right past them without making eye contact although they stared at him without saying a word the entire time.

“Thank God I reread the book of Proverbs yesterday. Those hoes were looking straight through me for my wallet. Damn they were fine though. I would like to get laid. How much even are whores? Do they all have all the diseases?”

So Jeb thought as he entered the liquor store with the intentions of buying a six pack of Budweiser. He became counter-intuitive at the last moment and bought a bottle of birthday cake flavored vodka. Assuming this was the the worst decision he had made in his life up to this point Jeb walked back to the corner to find that the beautiful women were no longer there.

“Fuck. Just another night doing the same shit, watching the same sports, thinking the same thoughts.”

Jeb then noticed the sound of voices from the second story of an apartment complex and looked up from the sidewalk. As Jeb raised his head his eyes made direct contact with two women wearing mini skirts standing on a staircase. Jeb’s eyes fell into his lung. His lung fell into his stomach. His stomach fell into his scrotum. For the first time in his life his balls fell into his ballsack.

“Hello.”

To Jeb it felt like two words: hell low. 

Low hell.

Bubba

“How does a man rob the cradle?”

“I would rob a cradle.”

“I would rob a cradle if there was some money in it.”

“I would rob a cradle if there was some jewelry in it.”

“I would rob a cradle if there was a computer with some bitcoins in it.”

“I wouldn’t rob a cradle for a damned baby.”

“There is kidnapping where you take a kid and demand a ransom.”

“The only reason I would take a baby out of it’s cradle though would be to change its diaper.”

“Or carry it around.”

“Or put it in it’s booster chair.”

“Or give it a bath.”

“Or put it in its playpen.”

“Or take it to it’s car seat.”

“Or hand it to its mother.”

John spoke all of this out loud standing across the room while looking into the eyes of his baby daughter Elizabeth crying at the top of her lungs from within her cradle.

Before your love will crack?

“Oh my God they have done it again.”

“My Grandparents are getting married in a recommitment ceremony for the 32nd time.”

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“Don’t they know that COVID is still a threat?”